


The forgotten story

by Scadoodle



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Death of Characters or is this false?, Original Character/s, Relationships to be tagged as story unfolds, Violence, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scadoodle/pseuds/Scadoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We have all read the story of a Hobbit, one Bilbo Baggins, who leaves the safety of the Shire to go on the biggest adventure of his life. His story is quiet well know.<br/>But what of the dwarfs? What of their story?</p><p>Follow along as Balin, an old dwarf nearing his death, tells of how the mountain was lost, how a king was born, how the company was formed and a dragon defeated. Let the story of how things started, came to be and how they ended show you a different side to the hero's we all know. Did they die, or was it a big cover up? What else was hidden away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any characters from the Hobbit. The reader will be notified of all new, significant characters at the start of each chapter.

Balin sighed softly, exhaling a smoky breath that hung around his face like a white cloud. It had been fifty-three years to the day; the day the line of Druin had been destroyed, the day they had buried their king, queen and the heirs to the throne under the mountain. Buried them in the heart of Erebor in the rock, the soul of their home a place where they could be remembered for all eternity.

He remembered as the heavy coffins had been placed inside the dark lonely tomb, he remembered the stone falling shut closing it to the world. He could see the sorrow of their people; hear their cries echoing in the marble halls, a keening wail during the night as they mourned for the loss of their hope, the loss of family and the loss of their hero’s. The elderly remembered; the memories filling their eyes with grief, the children were curious as children always were their minds filling with fantasy figures and scenes of what had happened. Stories were created and songs were sung to the heroes who had fought for their mountain, to those who had reclaimed their ancestor’s homeland, to those who lived and to those who hadn’t.

 

With a heavy heart he drew another breath, letting it escape with a soft hiss of smoke from his dry parched lips. It was a carefully guarded secret, one that he had sworn to take to his grave and into the halls of his fathers. The years had gone by and his people had flourished as they once had, they were strong a great force to be reckoned with, yet they were at peace with themselves and their neighbours.

As the days grew closer to the time where he took the Long Sleep, his eyes had grown dim until only the black shadows could be seen where the once joyous light had bloomed and he welcomed it. For he had seen horrors that would make even the most brave dwarves quiver with fear and shake like leaves on a tree being blown by the raging force of the wind.

 

A tingle in his eyes made him aware that these memories had him crying, which in turn had him sucking in a rattling breath of sorrow. Memories were often hard, they made his throat ache with not only sorrow but joy and it was in these precious moments that he wished they had never ended and this secret never had to happen. Old dry hands clenched around the thick tomb, it contained their history, the lives of others but its latest update was the one he treasured the most. This story told not of their heroic king but of the lady that stood by his side. A lady he was proud to have known and he would always regret staying behind, of refusing the offer. Letting out a strangled gasp he treasured the book to his chest, always careful to not damage the pages.

 

“Still holding that book,” came the light airy voice of his nursemaid, “Someday you are going to have to put that old tomb down and actually eat some food.”

The light banter of the young woman drew a smile to his tired face, “I’ll eat if you read,” he said putting the book in his lap, “just the final story. I wish to hear it one last time.”

Soft hands brushed against his, the heavy weight in his lap was removed and replaced with other, one that he knew contained food and drink. Leaning back into his pillows he closed his dull eyes, the rustle of pages alerted him to the book being open. ‘One more night,’ he thought, ‘Just one more then I can sleep.’

 

“Alright then, let us see……”

 


	2. Chapter 2: The beginning and end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I do not own any characters from 'The Hobbit' they are the creation of Tolkin.   
> All unnamed elves, men and dwarfs are the creation of my mind, Aztriel is also my own creation.

**Chapter 2**

 

The air was boiling, no wind carried across the wasteland, and it only added to the discomfort of the soldiers standing on the barren soil. This was the final battle, the battle which would decide the fate of Middle Earth, the fate of everyone and everything that lived, the fate of her own life and that of her people.

 

Her true people were gone, succumbed to the disease that had spread through their land, which had taken her parents that had destroyed the mind of her husband. A small pale and shaking hand gripped the bulge of her heavily pregnant belly, pain ripped through her skin, muscles, back and down her legs. She would not cry out, lest she give herself away and her child taken, deep in her heart she knew she wouldn’t survive the birth not with everything that had happened.

The clash of metal against metal surrounded all around her, and if you listened closely the twang of a bow loosening the straight shaft of an arrow, soon the cries of the dying would rise into the mid-afternoon sky. Nothing would help them, no healers could save them, they would scream for their death and for their mothers, yet all cries falling on deaf ears as their comrades continued to fight.

 

Her breathing became short sharp gasps as she tried to draw as much oxygen into her lungs, the pain increased into an agonising stabbing pain before cresting and subsiding. Air whooshed in and out of her lungs burning her throat is it went, this was childbirth and the only light at the end of the dark, scary and painful tunnel would be to hold her child in her arms. No matter how much time the God’s gave her.

 

It seemed like days, the battle outside the little cave she had taken refuge in raged on like a never ending electrical storm, the pain was almost crippling and it was agony, a never ending sea of agony and pressure. As each passing minute ticked by in the sandglass hour clock the pressure grew worse and the desire to push the foreign object from her body grew stronger. It hurt, the smell of blood reaching her nose, its metallic scent mixing with the earth. She did not know if it was from the bodies outside or her own body that created the smell, yet all that was forgotten as the pressure was gone and the sweet sound of a babies cry echoed in the shallow cave.

 

Pale shaky hands reached out clenching around the dirty, bloody object at stained feet, they clutched the small naked body to a heaving chest. The infant’s cries grew louder, its strength increasing by the minute.

“Oh God’s,” came the harsh whisper from the entrance of the cave.

Pale amber eyes met grey, they watched as the tall Elf came towards them, a knife was drawn and the woman flinched away those same amber eyes darkening with anger and fright. But all the knife did was cut the cord bringing about a new set of cries to the child who had grown quiet pressed against its mother’s breast.

 

Darkness crept into the cave, she wasn’t sure if it was the night or her own eyes, the pain was gone and she was at peace. The only thing keeping her attached to this world was the young life in her arms, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and slowly dropped down onto the face of the babe.

“Take care of her,” she whispered her grasp weakening.

 

Strong bloody, dirty hands wrapped around the precious bundle taking the weight from her heavy arms. Grey eyes stared at her before moving down to stare at her child, a small nod was the only answer she was given. The elf could have said something but her ears were deaf to all that was around her, only light touched her senses and it was calling her, behind the elf the white light beckoned to her with promises of happiness, love, joy and peace. With one final shattering breath she accepted the comfort of the light.

 

Grey eyes looked back up at the woman in front of him, they were lifeless and the soul had gone back to the Gods. The babe in his arms whimpered gaining his attention, he was startled to see those same amber eyes stared up at him as if searching his own soul. Subconsciously his arms wrapped his torn clock around the dirty bloody skin of the small fragile being before bringing the child closer to his chest. Those eyes continued to stare at him as his strong legs straightened, turning his back on the dead woman was one of the hardest things he had ever done, she was one of the casualties this war had claimed and for that he was sorry.

 

A cheer went up as he left the cave, the war had ended and the ground shook under his feet as the pressure and weight of the evil lifted, cracking and buckling had him turning back to see the cave collapse in a cloud of dust. The child’s past had been buried, she had no one left in this world, except him and he had promised the dying woman he would protect and take care of her child. He wasn’t sure what had frightened her, it could have been the churning of the earth, the cheering of the men and elves, but whatever it was had this beautiful child crying with an impressive set of lungs.

 

As the wail went up into the sky the cheering stopped and sets of eyes, astonished eyes, confused eyes, scared and hurt eyes turned towards them. It put them in the spotlight for here amongst the battle and carnage was something so pure, so innocent, something so tiny had survived and it gave them hope for the future.

 

“My Lord Elrond,” said a voice from the elf’s left. Another elf with a name Elrond couldn’t remember for the life of him stepped forward, curiosity showing on his young face and in his blue eyes.

“By the God’s it’s a babe,” whispered another elf as his comrades surrounded them and mumbled to each other, the message that a babe had been found spread through the ranks of both men and elves.

 

She was a gift, a gift given to him by a stranger and he called her ‘Aztriel’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and enjoy.  
> All Kudo's and comments are greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Like all children Aztriel grew from babe, to toddler, to child, to teenager, her features changing and her hair lightening to a soft brown, her amber eyes intensifying to a deep chestnut before paling once again to lighter amber just like her mothers. Yet as she grew to a young woman, 20 in elf years, it became more obvious that though she looked like an elf she would never be as tall as one, her height having stopped so that she resembled the height of a tall dwarf, it annoyed her to no end and was always a source of discomfort for her. As for her personality she was as stubborn as any dwarf Lord Elrond had ever met, yet she was loyal, passionate, gentle and kind a pure mixture of both good and bad qualities of Elves and Dwarfs, it made him wonder about her parentage.

It was the start of a beautiful spring morning in Rivendale, the sun was stretching up higher in the sky and it painted the manor with a soft pink light. Glancing up amber eyes squinted at the light making its way higher in the sky, turning she tightened the saddle on her horse checking to make sure everything was in order. Today they would be leaving on a long trip, her father Lord Elrond had received word from their closest dwarf neighbours, King Thrain wanted to meet and to discuss their treaty. 

So here they were, getting ready for the trip a group of 20 Elves, 25 horses and two wagons. The journey would take 2 weeks, slower if one of the horses turned up lame, longer if the wagons broke. She hoped it would only take 2 weeks, not that she was complaining it was a great honour to be asked to accompany her father, usually she was left behind with her brothers and sister but this time they were all going. Elladan, Elrohir and herself were riding horses whilst their young sister Arwen as to ride in one of the wagons.

“Let me help you little lady,” said a light dancing voice before she was lifted up in the air and popped into the saddle of her horse.   
Amber eyes turned to glare at the male which she knew to be one of her brothers, they so did like to tease her about her height or lack thereof, but they did it was love and that made it tolerable. If anyone else was to do such a thing they would find an arrow pressed against their throat, a few weeks ago one poor male found that out the hard way, it didn’t help that afterwards Elladan and Elrohir beat the man up for touching their sister, since then no one had touched her. 

They were soon underway, their horses trotting over the marble bridge that led away from Rivendale, their home turned into a speck in the distance behind them as they slowed to a walk. Around them birds chirped, the trees waved in the gentle spring breeze and the wagons cracked and groaned behind them. The journey to Erebor had started.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at this genre and at this new writing style. I hope you like it and continue to enjoy reading my work.  
> Please read, enjoy and review. All your comments are considered and greatly appreciated.


End file.
